


these hands have made some good mistakes

by kindclaws



Series: bingo, chopped, and prompts [3]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: 1x10 doesn't happen because hormones, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bisexual Raven Reyes, Chopped: The 100 Fanfic Edition, F/F, Interrupted Kiss, Set between 1x09 and 1x10, Sharing Clothes, The 100 (TV) Season 1, author is still deeply anti Finn Collins, girl!Bellamy, girls loving girls and talking about loving girls!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-02
Updated: 2019-05-02
Packaged: 2020-02-16 07:17:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18686731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kindclaws/pseuds/kindclaws
Summary: The morning after the Unity Day party, Bellamy wakes up with a killer hangover and a bra dangling from the roof of her tent. This would be fine, except:a) it's not her brab) she's not entirely sure who she slept with last nightc) none of the delinquents can agree on who she slept with, either.(Chopped Challenge: final round submission.)





	these hands have made some good mistakes

**Author's Note:**

> 1x09 was the Unity Day party episode. In canon Finn wandered off, found Octavia and Lincoln, and set up that ill-fated peace meeting with Anya on the bridge. In this fic, everyone decides to party instead. Clarke and Bellamy take a goddamn day off, Raven has a damn good time, and Finn sits around moping in the background instead of running off to kickstart the main quest.
> 
> This fic is a submission to the final round of Chopped: The 100, meaning it must include these tropes:  
> 1) Solve a Mystery!  
> 2) The main ship must share something!  
> 3) Almost kiss/Interrupted before kissing  
> 4) Gender swap!!  
> 5) Two characters giving extremely biased flashbacks to the same event  
> 6) ~~Free space!!!!~~ (Friends Making a Bet)
> 
>  **PERMISSIONS:** Please do not download and save this fic locally. I make frequent revisions and don't like the idea of old versions being out there, and if I ever decide I hate it, I'll orphan it rather than delete it so you'll still be able to find and read it! I'm open to translations and podfics, but please contact me on tumblr first. Do not upload to other sites. Do not claim as your own.

 

 

Bellamy wakes up, as she has done most mornings since the dropship crash-landed on Earth, to the relaxing sound of birdsong and teenagers hollering at the top of their lungs.

She rolls over in bed with a groan and tries to hide her face in the creases of her makeshift pillow. It does nothing to ease the pounding hangover in her head or to block out the soundtrack of mayhem outside her tent.

After another moment or so of thinking back to the Unity Day party last night and trying to pinpoint exactly which drinking game she should have drawn the line at, she rolls over and blinks blearily. The ceiling of her tent comes into view. The red tarp glows warmly where spots of sunlight hit it from outside. And at the intersection of several shafts of sunlight, as if it were placed there by divine intervention and illuminated for her benefit, there is a _bra_.

It's not Bellamy's.

She sits up so suddenly that the sudden pulse in her headache makes her wince and rub at her temples. The blanket falls to her lap. She's not wearing anything on her chest. She lifts up the blanket and checks - yep, not wearing anything under there either. She scrambles out of bed, quietly swearing to herself, and hunts around the boundaries of her tent for her clothes. Each article of clothing has been flung out separately from the other. That, and the slight, satisfying burning feeling in her thighs tells Bellamy she had company last night, which would be great, except - she can't remember.

She turns around to glares at the bra dangling from her ceiling. In the last twenty seconds or so since she looked away from it, it has failed to miraculously transform into her own bra. She has no idea who it belongs to.

More ruckus from outside her tent. It will warm up very soon but the fading summer mornings still carry the hint of a chill until noon hits. Every day the delinquents retreat close to the trees as the sun takes the shadows hostage until later in the afternoon, when the heat is more palpable. Bellamy kicks at the edges of the tarp and checks under every blanket, looking for her jacket. It isn’t anywhere to be found. From outside the tent, Bellamy hears more yelling and a low, delighted _whoop_ that can _only_ mean trouble. She wonders what the teenagers are so happy about, and why Clarke hasn’t stomped out of her hiding place to tell them to calm down yet. Maybe princesses get hangovers too. Maybe she’s curled up in her own bed somewhere, wondering why Bellamy hasn’t gotten the delinquents under control yet.

Bellamy’s mother did always say that if you want something done right, do it yourself. She curses this stupid morning under her breath and turns back to glare at the mysterious bra. Maybe whoever left it hanging in her tent will have her missing jacket. Bellamy marches over to it, snatches it off the branch it is dangling from, and stuffs it into her pocket on her way out of the tent.

Outside the camp it is brighter than she expected it to be. The dropship’s landing obliterated the tree canopy immediately around it and so the sunlight streams in, unobstructed and obnoxiously cheerful. Bellamy winces at the spike of pain that throbs through her skull and looks down instead, blinking as her vision adjusts. It makes her head hurt a little less, but it doesn’t improve her mood at all. The ground is a _mess_. The delinquents have trampled the grass that was here before into a layer of baked mud, littered every few steps with the aftermath of the Unity Day Party: makeshift decorations, clothing shed in the frenzy of dancing, discarded metal cups - some still stained with moonshine. The list goes on. Bellamy follows the trail of destruction to the dropship, where the yelling is loudest.

The crowd of teenagers gathered around the back of the dropship quiets and parts as they notice Bellamy’s approach. The path they make for her, so quickly and by such unspoken agreement, would be funny if Bellamy’s attention weren’t fixed on the reason for their gathering. Someone giggles hysterically in the background and is immediately shushed.

“Oooh, Bellamy’s gonna give it to them,” another voice whispers. Bellamy ignores it.

Jasper Jordan’s feet are dangling several inches above the ground. He’s missing one shoe and takes the opportunity to wriggle his exposed toes at Bellamy. Her gaze slowly drags upwards, taking in the sight of a truly outrageous amount of duct tape layered over and across his body, until she reaches his sheepish, grinning face.

Mbege tries, unsuccessfully, to hide the axe behind his back.

“Who duct taped Jasper to the dropship?” Bellamy says in a low, flat voice that makes it clear she doesn’t find this nearly as amusing as the girls giggling in the back. If she’s entirely honest – it is pretty fucking funny. But she’s certainly not going to let the kids know.

No one answers.

Monty opens his mouth and closes it again.

“I just woke up like this,” Jasper says innocently. “Hell of a party, wasn’t it?”

“For some people, apparently,” Bellamy says archly. “Mbege, I know you have an axe behind you. Were you trying to cut him down?”

“…Yes,” Mbege admits.

“Get a smaller fucking tool,” Bellamy snaps. “Or someone’s going to lose a limb, and _you’ll_ have to explain it to Clarke.” The look that passes over Mbege’s face can be easily translated as something along the lines of _I very strongly do not want to be the one who explains this to Clarke_. “Fox, Pascal, you two go help him find something better.”

The three teenagers scurry off without additional complaints, which makes Bellamy think the hangover is making her seem a little scarier than usual. She helped raise a teenager – she knows exactly how much they love to argue. Speaking of – Bellamy sees Octavia push her way through the crowd, ignoring the dirty looks she gets from some of the older kids whose shoulders she shoves. Bellamy raises an eyebrow at her and then casts a long look over the gathered crowd.

“Whoever duct taped Jasper to the dropship and wasted what looks like an _entire_ roll from Raven’s toolbox has until noon to confess,” she calls out in a loud, clear voice.

“It was an accident,” Monty blurts out. “It was dark last night, and uh, the light from the campfire’s doesn’t reach this side of the dropship, and, um – “

“Grounders did it!” a voice from the crowd calls. A ripple of nervous laughter. Octavia whirls around on her heels, fists raised.

“They did _not_!” she calls out, so Bellamy puts a hand on her shoulder and reels her back in before that can take a turn for the worse.

“I tripped,” Jasper blurts out.

“You tripped,” Bellamy repeats, slowly. “ _Into 3 layers of duct tape_?”

“Yes,” Jasper says, his voice strong and valiant even as Bellamy can see the defeat in his eyes. His gaze flickers down in shame, and then suddenly he gasps. His arms jerk helplessly at the layers of duct tape as he tries to point, having apparently forgotten his immobilization in the heat of the moment. “You have _hickies_ on your neck!”

As one, all the delinquents’ eyes swivel to Bellamy. Her eyes widen and she slaps the side of her neck. Her memory of last night is still clouded by that horrible moonshine, but now that Jasper’s mentioned it, she has a hazy recollection of the taste of alcohol on someone else’s lips, the hands carding through her curly hair, a soft exhale against her collarbones –

Bellamy snaps herself out of it.

“You hooked up last night!” Jasper says into the shocked silence.

“I did not!” Bellamy says.

“You did, you’ve got hickies! You’re not covering them up, you know, they’re on the other side.”

“Jasper!” Monty hisses, trying to elbow him in the ribcage and hitting the duct tape around his hips instead.

"Don't pretend you don't have money riding on this too - " Octavia says.

"We don't have any money - "

"It's an expression - "

"You made a bet?" Bellamy asks, aghast. Jasper shuts up. Bellamy wasn’t sure he knew how to do that. Monty reluctantly explains.

"There was some.... discussion last night," he says diplomatically, spreading his hands in the air. "About whether or not certain individuals in this camp would relax and, uh -"

"Resolve the blatant sexual tension," Octavia supplies. Both of them turn beet red.

"There were more than a few people willing to take us up on the bet," Monty says defensively, as though there's a finite amount of blame to spread around and Bellamy's ire will be easier to handle if it's distributed between more heads.

A beat of stunned silence, then -

“Soooooo, who’d you kiss?” Jasper asks.

“She was hanging out with Raven after they won beer pong,” Monty says quietly, more to himself than anyone else. He ticks off fingers like they’re timestamps of the evening Bellamy is still trying to piece together. “I lost track of them after Miles stabbed himself with the marshmallow skewer and Clarke went off to help him, then Octavia found the duct tape – “

“The duct tape wasn’t me!” Octavia says heatedly. “Plus I don’t think Miles _actually_ stabbed himself, I think he and Clarke just made that up so he’d have an excuse to not drink and not feel bad about it – “

“You’re the first person we saw with the duct tape!” Jasper interrupts.

“I got it from Harper, who got it from Sterling, who found it in a tree – “ Octavia begins.

“None of that matters!” Jasper shouts. Bellamy disagrees. Bellamy would much rather find someone to blame for the duct tape thing than continue the debate on who left a trail of hickies down her neck. She has another flash of memory – dragging the flat of her palm along bare skin, the shine of sweat in the firelight, a soft and girlish sigh - _fuck, why aren’t there any identifying features in her memory?_ “Who made out with Bellamy?” Jasper continues. _Wouldn’t you like to know?_ Bellamy thinks savagely.

“That’s not open for discussion,” Bellamy tries to threaten, but unfortunately the delinquents think they’re on a roll.

“There was the beer pong tournament. We can definitely place Bellamy there,” Jasper says thoughtfully. “Then Roma thought we should have a dance party, and – wait shit, Bellamy, you were definitely there for that, because Finn tried to hit on Clarke again, and Raven was like – “

“No, he was trying to hit on _Raven_ ,” Harper says, having helpfully pushed her way into the circle.

“I think he was trying to hit on _both_ of them,” Octavia says, her doubtful tone telling everyone exactly what she thinks of that strategy.

“He _would_ ,” Bellamy murmurs quietly, and then, catching herself, loudly says: “None of that matters! None of this is your business.”

“Yes it is,” Octavia says, with a glint in her eye that makes Bellamy think this is payback for all her hovering. “The people deserve to know, Bellamy. Who’d you make out with?”

She has a sudden flash of a smile, a mole above two curving lips, and then – dark hair slipping over a slim shoulder. Bellamy’s brain stutters to a halt. She presses two fingers to her temples. Her headache is a fucking pain.

"We don't even have any money," Bellamy says quietly, echoing Monty's protest earlier. "What on earth did you even have to bet?"

"Latrine duty," Jasper says sheepishly.

"Yeah?" Bellamy says. "Well, congrats. You've got double of it."

She stomps off, leaving them to figure out how to detach Jasper from the dropship wall. At the edge of the crowd, she stops and turns back.

“Triple latrine duty for anyone who keeps theorizing!” she threatens, and then marches off to the sound of giggles. So she’s got a few leads on who she might have slept with last night – she can start by saying good morning to Raven and Clarke and see how they react to her until her hangover starts to ease and she sorts out her messy, conflicting memories. That’s a plan, right? She takes a deep breath and scans the activity around the camp. All the while she is painfully aware of the bra burning a hole in her pocket.

 

 

 

 

Clarke isn’t in the corner of the dropship she’s appropriated into a medbay, and Raven isn’t in her tent tinkering, and _no one_ else seems to have seen either of them all morning. However… there _is_ one person in this camp full of hormonal _idiots_ that is almost guaranteed to know where both Raven and Clarke are.

Bellamy finds Finn brooding over a cookfire. His unhappiness is broadcasting quite clearly from several steps away – other delinquents are turning away when they come close to go to other cookfires. Bellamy sits down on a log across from him and tries to suppress the eye-rolls she always wants to resort to in his presence. He looks at her gloomily through the smoke of the campfire and turns over a small piece of smoked meat.

“Do you know where Clarke or Raven is?” Bellamy asks, cutting straight to the chase.

Finn’s shoulders immediately slump.

“No,” he says, poking halfheartedly at his meat.

“No, you don’t know where either of them are?” Bellamy clarifies.

“They’re both avoiding me,” Finn says gloomily. “I checked the entire camp.”

“Yeah, well, that says more about you than it does about them,” Bellamy says. She sighs and drags a hand through her curly hair as Finn takes a moment to process that.

“You’re good at getting people to like you,” Finn says after a moment.

“Sure,” Bellamy says. She stands up, already thinking of her next steps, and if it’s true that they left the camp, _now_ , with the unknown threat of Grounders hanging over their heads, oh, Bellamy’s going to have some _words_ when she finds them –

“I don’t get it,” Finn says, gesturing at her. “I mean. You’re an asshole, and I’m a nice guy.”

Bellamy stares at him.

“You cheated on your girlfriend,” she reminds him, because that seems like a safer thing to say than _my head still really hurts but I’m starting to get the feeling I slept with one of the girls you’re currently moping over and you will never deserve them._ She briefly considers pulling the bra out of her pocket and asking him if it looks familiar, but… well. Bellamy’s mean, but she’s not _that_ mean.

“I made _one_ mistake,” Finn shoots back, and – really, Bellamy doesn’t have the patience to explain to him why he’s wrong right now. She rubs at her temples.

“So they both left camp?” she confirms. “This morning?”

Finn nods, and Bellamy walks away before she loses her self control and punches him in the face. It’s been a _long_ morning.

 

 

 

 

She finds Miller leaning his chin against his hand as he watches over the sundappled forest beyond their wall. Bellamy flicks his head as she sits down and waits for him to finish grumbling before she hands him some breakfast.

“How’s your watch?” Bellamy asks as they eat, nodding at the wilderness.

“Quiet,” Miller says. Quiet, as in, no sign of grounders. There’s plenty of other sounds underneath the chatter of delinquents behind them. Birdsong and insects and a breeze that rustles the topmost layers of the tree canopy. Bellamy wonders what it’ll look like in the fall, if the stories are true and everything will turn red and gold and orange. Then she wonders how they’ll stay warm and find food. Then she wonders how she’ll keep the teenage idiots she now feels responsible for alive long enough to find out. Octavia jumping headfirst into a river they knew nothing about only to find a giant predatory fish is, unfairly, a pretty average example of the camp’s collective decision making skills.

“Did you get to enjoy Unity Day at all?” Bellamy asks. Unexpectedly, Miller smirks.

“Who do you think duct taped Jasper to the dropship?” he asks lowly, and Bellamy nearly falls off the wall with laughter.

A few minutes later, when she’s calmed down, she looks both ways before furtively pulling part of the bra in her pocket out.

“For me?” Miller deadpans. “You shouldn’t have.”

“It’s not for you, asshole, I found it hanging off my ceiling this morning and I’m trying to return it,” Bellamy hisses. “The problem is, uh, my memories aren’t really making sense. And neither are everyone else has conflicting stories of last night’s party.”

Miller raises an eyebrow.

“What doesn’t make sense?”

Bellamy presses her lips together into a thin line. There are flashes in her mind of image and sensation. Clarke’s laughter when she made a difficult shot in beer pong. Raven’s dark hair glinting in the firelight as she leaned in close, sandwiched between them. And… kissing. The problem is that Bellamy doesn’t want to just come out and admit that she’s daydreamed of kissing both girls and that’s why she’s so unsure what’s memory and what’s fantasy.

“Do you know if I slept with Clarke or Raven?” Bellamy asks finally, because at least Miller can be trusted to keep gossip to himself.

“Yep.”

Miller’s face betrays nothing. Not even a twitch. Bellamy narrows her eyes.

“Really?” she asks. “You asshole. I brought you breakfast.”

Miller frowns ever so slightly.

“Fine. Only because you brought food. I’ll say this much: it’s absolutely embarrassing that it’s taken you this long to figure it out when I _know_ you’ve had other threesomes.”

Bellamy drops her bowl.

“Oh,” she says in a small voice.

“Dumbass,” Miller says, but he leans over and punches her shoulder in a gentle, affectionate way.

 

 

 

 

It amazes Bellamy sometimes, how quickly the noise from the camp falls away with only a little distance put between her and it. After several minutes of walking through the lush green foliage - stopping every once in a while to find broken branches and footsteps in the soft mulch of the ground - the delinquents' voices melt away like a memory. They are replaced by birdsong and the gentle rustling of wildlife through the forest and the shrill buzz of insects in the warming summer day. Anyone would be tempted by the apparent languid calm.

Anyone but Bellamy.

She fumes the whole way, muttering to herself as she traces Clarke and Raven's trail - it's like they're not even _trying_ to step carefully - while her traitorous brain imagines increasingly terrible and gruesome consequences. It's easier to let herself spiral than to examine the worry coiling itself tightly in her guts and wonder why she's so worried about the safety of one girl whose hand she threatened to cut off and another who she left abandoned in a crashed pod. It's only been a scattering of days but everything on the ground happens faster than it should. None of the rules of their old life on the Ark apply. There are traps and spiked pits left by the Grounders and Grounders themselves and apparently a fucking black panther, too, because _why not_ , she's pretty sure they weren't native to North America before the apocalypse but _hey, clearly nothing else on this planet makes any sense_ -

She breaks off in her mental tirade as she rounds a flowering bush and stops dead at the sight of two figures sitting in the ferns up ahead.

Bellamy's breath catches in her throat. Neither Clarke nor Raven have noticed her yet; they are sitting very close together, Raven cross-legged, Clarke with her legs tucked to one side, and it doesn't take a genius to see why they're not paying attention to their surroundings. They are entranced by each other. Raven stares, her face unexpectedly vulnerable, as Clarke slowly reaches up, each movement slow and telegraphed, and brushes Raven's jaw. Clarke raises her eyebrows. Raven gives a tiny nod, and something about the twitch of her fingers and the wariness in her shoulders makes Bellamy think she might be holding her breath too. Her lungs burn but she still can't inhale as Clarke leans forward, her fingers skimming Raven's chin and tilting her face up.

Bellamy's feet carry her forwards of their own volition. If she had any say in this she'd be turning around and leaving, swallowing down her disappointment and whatever hope she might have had that she'd be included, that she could be part of - _something_ , after a lifetime of holding herself away -

A twig snaps under her foot and Clarke jerks back from Raven just before their lips meet. Two pairs of shocked eyes meet Bellamy's.

"I - I'm sorry I interrupted," she stammers in a voice that barely sounds like her own - it's hard to hear over the sound of her pulse roaring in her ears. She's never been more grateful for her olive skin for the subtlety it lends to the hot flush of her cheeks. She turns away. Bellamy, _blushing_? Fucking hells, she's an adult – “It was an accident. I'll go now - "

"It's okay," Clarke says, at the same time as Raven says.

"Well you _are_ interrupting, but you could come sit, if you want..."

Bellamy reluctantly turns back. Her skin prickles under the weight of both girls' gazes. Her mind reels before latching onto a way to bring this back to familiar territory. "You shouldn't be out here alone," she says gruffly. "What's the point of walls and guns and protocols if you're not using them to stay safe?"

"We needed some air," Clarke says. "We would have woken you, but honestly, you looked a lot happier to be asleep."

"I just - " Raven says, searching for words, and it's a little unsettling to see the steadfast mechanic so unsure. She waves vaguely between Clarke and Bellamy. "You know. Last night. I've been with Finn as long as I can remember. I'd never kissed a girl before. Clarke offered to talk about it with me."

"And there's no privacy in the camp," Clarke adds. A mischievous look slowly blooms in her eyes. "So if you really want to protect us, Blake, you better sit down with your rifle and talk about girls with us."

Bellamy remains rooted to the spot for a moment before her feet start to move her forward of their own accord once again. Lush green ferns brush against her calves and ankles as she comes to a stop at a point equidistant from Clarke and Raven. After one last moment of hesitation and another subtle nod from Raven, Bellamy sits in the third vertex of a perfect triangle. The keening insect has struck up its song again and it wavers through the clearing. Clarke brushes her hair over her shoulder and Bellamy's gaze falls to the familiar jacket slung around her shoulders.

"I want my jacket back," Bellamy says, nodding at it. "Eventually. I spent a long time looking for it this morning."

"If you insist," Clarke says, peeling it off and plopping it down in Bellamy's lap. The fabric is warm where it was touching her skin, probably too warm now, as the sunlight filters down into the forest. Bellamy's fingers twitch.

"Which reminds me," she murmurs as she reaches into her pocket. Raven snickers as she pulls out the bra that was dangling from her ceiling. "Look familiar?"

Raven reaches out and reclaims it, but once it’s in her hands she just drops it into the ferns next to her.

"It's a tits out kind of day," she explains, and Bellamy looks at her gun so she doesn't look at Raven's thin shirt instead. All her bravado, all her swagger – it’s burned away suddenly.

"So, Bellamy? What do _you_ like about girls?" Clarke asks propping her chin on one hand and smiling at her. Bellamy has another flash of memory from the previous night - the glow of a campfire, the rattle of metal disks in metal cups, Raven's laugh as she challenged them to a trick shot, Clarke's offended voice insisting _I can be fun._ This feels like a peek of the teenagers they might have been allowed to be, in another world, without the responsibilities of a whole camp of unruly dumbasses on their hands. Maybe that's what makes her actually take the question seriously instead of brushing it off and insisting they all return to camp.

That's what Unity Day is for, right? For setting aside their responsibilities and the weight of their survival for a single day.

"I like that they smell nice, when we haven't all been camping for two weeks," Bellamy says, and is unprepared for the snort of laughter that comes from Raven.

"That's it? Come on, give us more," she says.

"I like..." Bellamy says, trailing off as she tries to find the words. She doesn't want to say that she liked Clarke's chest, last night, or the tremble in Raven's thighs as they made her fall apart, it wouldn't come out the way she means it. It would sound insincere, crass, outside the sanctum of her own head. She licks her suddenly dry lips. "Guys tend to be quieter. They think they're supposed to be stoic, they don't react as much. I like the way that girls sound. They don't even need to be loud. You can listen to a girl's breathing and know she loves what you're doing. And the way they arch, and I like their hands, and - "

Raven looks utterly enraptured. Clarke's eyebrows are trying to climb off her forehead.

"I didn't know you were a romantic, Bellamy," Clarke teases.

"Why am I the only one embarrassing myself?" Bellamy retorts. "Come on, what do _you_ guys like about girls."

"Don't have enough data," Raven says shortly, and this time it's Clarke who snorts. Raven bites her lip, staring at Bellamy intently. Bellamy's skin feels too small for her, too small and too itchy and too warm. Raven looked at her like that last night too, in the shadows of her tent, like she was being trusted with a magnificent secret.

"That's exactly what a rocket scientist would say," Clarke says.

"How much data would be enough?" Bellamy asks, drawing on the veneer of bravado she wore for the very first few days on the ground. She sounds braver than she feels on the inside. Raven chews on her lip again, and Bellamy finds that she really likes it, both the look of utmost concentration and the surprise and delight of being the focus of it. She likes it like she likes the furrow that Clarke always gets between her eyebrows when the world doesn't immediately jump into line for her and she's puzzling out how to proceed.

On the Ark, Bellamy doesn't think she would have liked _either_ of them. On the Earth, everything is different.

"Can I kiss you?" Raven asks, and Bellamy scarcely has time to say yes before Raven is crawling forward and slinging one thigh over her lap. Her ponytail swings over her shoulder and whacks Bellamy in the face as Raven settles her weight. Bellamy laughs at it first, and then Raven, and then Clarke, and they're all breathless for a moment before Raven gets serious again and grabs Bellamy's jaw.

She tastes like moonshine. It's acrid and it still burns, hours after the party waxed and waned, but Bellamy still has to grab fistfuls of the back of Raven's shirt to center herself, to not push forward so quickly. Raven is hesitant at first, stiff, before Bellamy parts her lips and exhales with a low, pleased murmur. It spurs something in Raven. She bears down on Bellamy's hips and licks a defiant swipe against Bellamy's mouth.

The stems of ferns crack and crinkle as Clarke scoots forward. Raven breaks off with a quiet, breathless gasp. Clarke leans into Bellamy's side, warm and heavy and thrumming with intent, and angles her face up to Raven's. Bellamy watches them indulge in the kiss she interrupted earlier and feels dazed and heady and drunk all over again at the sight. She sweeps a hand around Raven's hip and her fingertips slip under the hem of her shirt, touching smooth skin.

Raven makes a sound at that, a surprised, happy, murmur. Clarke stops kissing her mouth long enough to start kissing an enthusiastic trail down Raven's neck, and Raven's eyes flutter shut. She looks blissful. Bellamy, encouraged, slips her palm higher up Raven’s shirt, feeling the divots of her spine beneath her fingertips, the way Raven’s back muscles tense and relax as Bellamy brushes a ticklish spot. Clarke grazes her teeth against Raven’s throat and Raven makes a sound – something between a gasp and a moan – that has Bellamy’s head spinning. This is – _fuck_. She likes girls _so_ much.

“Enough data?” Bellamy asks, breathless.

Raven opens her eyes lazily, like waking from a dream.

“Yeah,” she murmurs, before laughing quietly. “The results are in. Girls are great.”

“Wow,” Clarke says all in a rush of air, before letting herself fall backwards into the ferns. She laughs. “Oh, fuck, I just had a thought. Can you imagine Finn’s face when we all walk back into camp together?”

“Best unity day ever,” Raven jokes. Bellamy wraps her arms around Raven’s waist and pulls her down into the ferns next to Clarke, where the three of them take a very, very long time to muster the motivation to leave the gentle, sunlit clearing and face the chaos of camp.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> #aggressively ignoring the state of canon Bravenlarke 2kforever
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> If you liked this fic, I encourage you to check out the other submissions in the Chopped Challenge, and to vote for your favs on tumblr at either [thelittlefanpire](http://thelittlefanpire.tumblr.com/) or [dylanobrienisbatman](http://dylanobrienisbatman.tumblr.com/). Voting opens this weekend, if I remember correctly, and the collection will be un-anonymized around Monday so you can come cry about Bravenlarke with me.  
> Since we've reached the end of the Chopped challenge, thelittlefanpire and dylanobrienisbatman, thanks again for organizing this. :) I hope everyone else found it as fun as I did.
> 
> Title modified from Natalie Wee's Least of All:  
>  _I kneel into a dream where I_  
>  _am good & loved. I am_  
>  _good. I am loved. My hands have made_  
>  _some good mistakes. They can always_  
>  _make better ones._


End file.
